Don't Wake Me, I'm Busy Dreaming
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: I've been having these bizarre dreams lately; dreams of impossible, lovely things, of moments in another time and place with just the person I've been dying to see. .:. hints of Elricest and one-sided HeidrichXEd. set right before the CoS movie.


**A/N: Title partially inspired by the Postal Service song, "Sleeping In;" the lyrics are, 'Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in…' because the singer in the song likes his dreams so much. A similar concept applies here. XD**

**Takes place before the Conqueror of Shambala movie, and is based off of what Izumi's husband said to Winry in the movie itself. I'm paraphrasing a little, but he said (referring to Al), "He says that he has dreams that he's seventeen and living with Edward. He says that they build machines together, and live in another world…" -yeah, a lot of paraphrasing, but it was something along those lines. I didn't catch that until this past time that I watched the movie, which was, like, my fifth viewing of it? Anyway, this drabble is centered on that notion. ;P**

**Warning: hints of Elricest, because I'm a freak. But also hints of one-sided HeidrichXEd, 'cause I like that, too. I mean, any slash-writing fangirl could see it in the movie; because, really, what guy holds another guys' hand and doesn't even care about dying if it means helping said other guy? LOL. #thinks of Ed-in-the-rocket scene of CoS#**

**Oh, and this is in Al's POV, if you hadn't noticed by the first few lines.**

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I've been having these bizarre dreams lately; dreams of impossible, lovely things, of moments in another time and place with just the person I've been dying to see.

I have a theory, but I don't know if I'm right. I think that, maybe, the reason why I keep dreaming of an older version of myself living and working alongside my brother is because The Gate granted me a small piece of mercy for having lost my memories of the years I traveled with my older brother. Its mercy, I believe, is the gift of vision, seeing into what would have been my life if I lived in another world.

Because I know it's not really me who's speaking to Brother in my dreams. By what I've seen when he glances into a mirror, this other Al is taller than me, older than me, and has lighter blond hair with very blue eyes. And his voice is too deep, and he's very ill. He coughs up blood like Teacher does, and I know that he's going to die young like Mother. But I like pretending to be him in my dreams; because where this Al is, Brother also is.

'_Alfons,'_ Brother says, his voice muffled like all dream-voices are. _'Are you sure these guys aren't scamming you? – Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you have sponsors for your rocket research, but I don't want you to get involved with anything… dangerous.'_

I used to think it was only a dream, but I learned from repeated visions that it's all too real to be a dream. It's insight as to where Brother has gone, and it's a reason to keep propelling myself further and further on my quest to find a way to get back to him, or get him back to me. I watch, now, as I sleep in Winry's guest bed, to see if I can pick up any clues.

'_Nonsense,'_ I reply; it's not really me talking, and I have no control over what I say or do, but it's in my point of view nonetheless. _'I know what I'm getting myself into. I don't really care what they do with my rockets, anyway; I just like building them, and if what I build can be useful to someone, then I'll gladly work for them.' _I pause, and put down my fork. I don't know what I'm eating, but it tastes like meat and is shaped like a sausage of some sort. _'And Ed, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Al?'_

A sorrowful expression flickers across Brother's face. He glances down. _'I'm sorry, but I can't do that. Remember? That's what I called _him._ Calling you by the same name is hard enough already, and a pet-name would make it worse.'_

I stiffen, but nod my head. I glance down at my plate, but a dull ache makes me feel no longer hungry. I feel… hurt. He hurts this other me, Brother does; the other me cares deeply for him like the real me does, but all Brother cares about is someone else, and it hurts the other me in a way that makes me wonder if this tall, older Al loves Brother, too.

'_I'm sorry, Ed; I forgot.'_

'_It's all right. But hey, Heidrich, if it makes you feel any better, sometimes I forget, too; I blur the lines a little, and I almost end up calling you by his nickname. You two are… very similar. You know, I bet if I would've seen him grow up, he would look just like you! Haha,'_ Brother jokes, and it lightens up the other me's mood. I stand up from the table and take Brother's empty plate, and begin washing it with my own. Brother stretches and says casually, _'Mm, I'm beat. I think I'll hit the hay. Good night.'_

'_Gute Nacht,'_ I reply in a language I don't know, but it sounds like, 'good night.' _'Angenehme Träume.'_

Brother pauses. _'What's that one mean, again?'_

I chuckle softly, and I can feel my gaze soften lovingly. _'It means, 'pleasant dreams.''_

Brother's expression shifts again, and he glances downward with a wayward smile, but his eyes are pained again. _'Yeah. I'll try. But you know… it's gets harder every night. I keep dreaming of painful memories and frightening possibilities of the future.'_

And before I can ask what he means, or force him to give me an example, I wake up.

I wake up, and it's the same Risembool that I've always know, with the same sky and sun and air and grassy plains, but it feels foreign as I shake myself from the haze of being in another country in a faraway place I'm not sure I can reach.

But I want to reach that place. I want to find Brother, and do whatever it takes to bring him home. And I don't mean Risembool; while this used to be our home, our true home is with each other. I might not remember much of anything of the years we searched for the Stone, at least not with extremely painful, migraine-like effort, but I do know this much: when we're together, Brother and I don't need a home.

But I need more than these meager dreams, these visions of things that could be happening as I dream them, or before, or after. I don't know, but it doesn't matter to me. All that matters is deciphering each and every dream to find out what's going on in Brother's life, and if he's looking for a way to come home. If he is, then maybe I can follow suit and meet him halfway.

Although… part of me wonders what sort of reunion it might be. Winry, I'm sure, would slap Brother first for being foolish, and then hug him immediately afterward. But as for me? I don't know what I'd do. Every part of my body would probably be screaming to run and embrace him and never let go, but I know that I wouldn't have the guts to do it. I'll probably stand by awkwardly, caught between telling him how much I missed him and saying something important concerning whatever circumstances occur due to whatever taboo I will have to commit in order to get him back.

But how will _he_ react when he sees me? Will he want to hug me, too? Will he have the same urges to say something sentimental, or will he shove his emotions down and act nonchalant like he sometimes does? I fear this, because I want nothing more than to touch him again, at least a little; for some reason, I feel contact-deprived. I don't know whether or not such a thing relates to the memories I'm missing, but it stings and burns within me nonetheless.

As does something else: a strong, compelling love for Brother that I don't quite remember having before, but that lingers within me now. I feel as though I have to do everything I can to have him, even if it means wearing his clothes and growing out my hair and clapping my hands together to transmute things, just as he must have done.

Or so everyone tells me.

I keep hearing stories. I hear tales from Major Armstrong and ex-Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye about the years Brother spent as a State Alchemist. I hear stories from Winry and Granny Pinako about how Brother grew up into, "a fine young man." I'm told tales about all of the towns we visited together, and all of the witnesses to it. Even Teacher tells me little things now and then.

None of it sounds very familiar. I can see myself doing those things – they seem like things I _would_ do – but I can't actually remember them. And that bothers me a great deal.

But what bothers me even more is that I never seem to want to stop sleeping. I want to sleep for days, just to keep dreaming about Brother. He's so handsome, now; and so much older. I feel a gap of two kinds: the first being the physical gap of not having him near me, and the second being an emotional age-gap. After all, my mind and body are both only thirteen, and he's eighteen; I should be seventeen, a year directly behind him like I used to be.

Except… not anymore. Now, I fell like I'm so far away from him, like or bond is breaking down with each passing day of these continual two years, and it wounds me in ways I can't begin to explain. He'll never forget about me, I know; and I'll never forget about him, but…

What if it's not enough? What if we're separated forever?

It seems so impossible. How will I ever reach him, my dear brother? Is there a way?

I have to believe that there is. After all, Brother sacrificed everything he had to give in order to find a way to give me my body back; I know that, even if I can't remember it truly. And knowing is enough to make me persevere. It will take time, lots and lots of time, but I will keep going. I will stop at nothing until I have him holding me like he used to when we were children, and I'd run – scared and helpless – into his arms during thunderstorms or after nightmares.

For now, however…

For now, I have another hour or so to fall back asleep and dream one last dream until tonight. One last dream, hopefully about Brother, and I can only hope that Winry doesn't wake me before this one's over.


End file.
